


Devil pacts and pacifiers

by biancarambles



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Crack, Deal with a Devil, Demon Jaskier | Dandelion, Human Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Single Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, a lil flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29443092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biancarambles/pseuds/biancarambles
Summary: Exhausted single dad Geralt accidentally summons a demon. Contract in hand, underqualified demon intern Jaskier rises to the occasion of being Ciri's supernatural babysitter and hopefully corrupting Geralt's immortal soul in the process."What do you mean who am I?" The figure seemed offended judging by its tone of voice. "You're the one that summoned me.""What?""Yeah, you." The figure huffed and a puff of smoke escaped from its mouth. It smelled vaguely like rotten eggs. "The wish? The blood? The crossroads? It doesn't get much more textbook than that."Geralt looked at its finger, still bleeding. "I didn't– I didn't really mean to... I guess," he stammered.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 192





	Devil pacts and pacifiers

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: This was supposed to be a silly, indulgent, one-shot crack fic but y'alls comments are making me reconsider and now I may turn it into a series with random updates every time the inspiration strikes. 
> 
> You are warned (in a totally cool and not threatening way)

Geralt sighed heavily as he closed the door of Ciri’s nursery behind him, baby monitor in hand.

On his way to the kitchen, a little shadow crossed his path in the hallway and Geralt bent down to give a little scratch on Roach’s soft little head. She purred back in response coiling her tail around his calf.

It was just one of those days. The main problem, however, was that “one of those days” had turned into “one of those weeks” and then “one of those months”. Between Ciri’s teething and Geralt’s infinite team calls for the last big project at work (a food court in a newly built mall), that particular Wednesday he’d been screamed at enough to last him at least three lifetimes.

Ciri was sleeping now, swaddled and all tucked in her crib. She’d exhausted herself (and Geralt) enough that it was safe to assume she was probably going to sleep for a while.

In the kitchen he grabbed a much-deserved beer from the fridge and contemplated its empty desolation. If he wasn’t going to go grocery shopping the following day, both Ciri and he were going to starve to death. What a way to go: starved to death and their corpses eaten by Roach once she’d run out of kibble, just because he was too tired to buy formula for Ciri and something green and vaguely nutritious for himself... It would have certainly been fitting. Ridiculous just like the rest of his life.

With another heavy sigh, Geralt left the kitchen and walked to the front door, baby monitor and beer in hand. Still in his bare feet, he made his way across the front lawn, savouring the feeling of the damp grass underneath his soles, the chill air of the evening and the blessed silence.

Midnight was late for the suburbs, especially for a weekday. All the lights in his neighbours’ houses were off and their inhabitants, present excluded, were sleeping soundly, able to escape their responsibilities at least for a few, unconscious hours. No car to be seen at the intersection in front of the park, usually the busiest spot in the neighbourhood. The streetlight was stuck in a perpetual orange. It was so silent too: no lawnmowers, no childrens’ laughs, no ice cream trucks jingles, just blessed silence. Indeed, midnight was late for the suburbs.

Geralt balanced the baby monitor on the mailbox – a precarious position – then yawned, stretching his arms wide.

It was nights like these that made him think that being both an insomniac and a single parent with a teething baby was more than he could take. And then, after ten minutes, Ciri would babble something adorable or tug his hair and all the exhaustion seemed more than worthy. You couldn’t explain a love like that.

He blinked and, for the fraction of a second his eyelids were closed, it was almost like taking a nap. God. He was tired. He needed a fucking break, or at least a babysitter.

He blinked again and looked at the beer still in his hand for what felt like the first time. Right, he was going to drink that. Hand firm around the can, he grabbed ring and pull tab with too much force and, as it flew out of his hand, a sharp pain cut through his finger.

With a groan, he examined his finger: it wasn’t deep but there was definitely blood. As if he needed that in addition to the ever-growing pile of issues currently on his plate. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, closing his eyes and sucking on his finger to at least stop the bleeding.

“There’s no need to swear.” A low, musical voice laughed near him.

Startled, Geralt opened his eyes, blinking once, then twice.

Just a few feet away from the mailbox, a dark figure was leaning against the lamp post, covered by the shade. A dark figure that Geralt was about 90% sure was not there a few seconds ago. God, he was really tired. Maybe if he told Tommy he was having hallucinations he’d have been able to score a few days of sick leave.

Geralt blinked once more. Figure was still there, leaning against the lamp post as if it had no care in the world besides annoying a single parent in an almost hallucinatory state who was trying to enjoy a beer in peace. “Who are you? What do you want?” He asked.

“What do you mean who am I?” The figure seemed offended judging by the tone of its voice. “You’re the one that summoned me.”

“What?”

“Yeah, you.” The figure huffed and a puff of smoke escaped from its mouth. It smelled vaguely like rotten eggs. “The wish? The blood? The crossroad? It doesn’t get more textbook than that.”

Geralt looked at his finger, still bleeding. “I didn’t- I didn’t really mean to… I guess,” he stammered.

“Well, it’s too late now.” The figure crossed its arms and propped itself up with a foot against the lamp post with an air of annoyance. Not that Geralt could really see its face, but the feeling remained. “I am here now and I can’t go back to hell. My boss’s really been a bitch lately and I don’t want to be demoted to a lemure.” It seemed to shudder at the thought of whatever that entailed.

Despite himself, Geralt found himself nodding. Bad bosses were as common on earth and hell apparently.

Still veiled by shadows, the figure grinned. In that unnatural darkness, you could only see that glitzy smile and the pointy teeth. “See?” it purred, not unlike Roach, “We’re bonding already.” After a second, the figure extended a hand towards Geralt.

In all its pale skinned, rosy glory, it didn’t look very demonic. In fact, it was very human, down to the bitten fingernails and the little constellation of moles on the inside of the wrist.

“No handshake before the deal is signed? I respect your style.” The figure laughed and took a few steps closer, entering the lamp post’s light at last. He bowed slightly and, when he finally stood up, he was wearing the same grin as before. “Let me introduce myself formally, then. I am Julian Alfred Pancratz, the Malevolent, Servant of Dispater, the Iron Duke and Lord of Strife, but you can call me Jaskier.”

Geralt stared him down. Just like his hand, the figure before him – Jaskier – looked, for lack of better words, extraordinarily human. He was tall, or at least average height, with tousled light brown hair and impossibly bright blue eyes that seemed to smile in themselves. If anything, Geralt would’ve placed Jaskier on the opposite side of the supernatural spectrum. A pretty, if overgrown, cherub.

Conscious he’d probably been staring for too long, Geralt cleared his voice. “I thought you’d have fangs or horns or something?”

“I had them filed down for you.” The demon, Jaskier, grinned, pointy canines poking through his rosy lips. “Company policy for overground missions. Humans seem to find them … off-putting. Can’t help but wonder why.”

“Hmm,” Geralt nodded, unsure what answer he was supposed to give.

Jaskier rubbed his hands excitedly. “Although I’d love to stay and chat with such a handsome charge like yourself, I’m afraid Dispater will throw me in the Everburning Pits if I don’t get to the deal soon.” He titled his head in a look that could’ve passed for apologetic were it not worn by an actual demon.

“What’s with this deal?”

Jaskier puffed out his chest as he closed his eyes intently. A frown line appeared on his otherwise smooth forehead. “You said: ‘I need a fucking break or at least a babysitter,’” he recited with his eyes still shut.

Geralt took a step back and swallowed, finding his throat suddenly dry. Fuck. Could he read his mind?

“Not all the time.” The other shrugged, picking at his bitten fingernails idly, as if he had no cares in the world. “I promise I won’t pry into your nastiest and filthiest thoughts, no matter how much I’d like to,” he added after a second with a wink.

Great. Hell wasn’t only after his soul but also his dick. And what was worse, was that he was at least a little bit tempted. He hadn’t gotten laid in God knows how long and a screaming toddler didn’t help. After all, if he was going to sell his soul to the devil for a babysitter, he could’ve gotten a few fucks in the deal as well, just to get his soul’s worth.

Jaskier cleared his throat and shuffled awkwardly on the spot.

Horrified and blushing furiously, Geralt realized that those thoughts also weren’t exactly private. Trying to fight the rising nausea in his stomach, he dug his fingernails in his palm to have something else to focus on than the mortifying ordeal of having his lack of sex life known.

“Now, about that deal…” Jaskier said, “I will take care of your hellish toddler 24/7 to give you some much needed rest.” Jaskier stopped, his words trailing off as he scratched the back of his neck. “Between us, you really need to focus on your work because Tommy isn’t very pleased with your current output.”

He didn’t seem to care about Geralt’s nervous stammering or the silent questions in his eyes and just gestured vaguely, to dismiss the topic. “Anyway, as I was saying,” he continued unperturbed, “I’ll take care of the baby provided that you don’t have any religious paraphernalia in your house. Religion doesn’t matter, I don’t care for them all the same.”

“What’s the catch?”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow and the frown line reappeared on his forehead. “What do you mean?”

“What do you want in return?”

“Your everlasting soul and its propriety in continuity for a predetermined period of eternity.” He tilted his head and locked his eyes on Geralt.

Whatever Jaskier saw in his expression must’ve been amusing, because he exploded in a laugh, a low and raspy sound not unlike the bubbling of magma. “No, you silly human. Class-rate salary and paid subscription to a trade union of my choice back home in the City of Dis. You won’t be able to get rid of me through a loophole.” He paused, seemingly weighing his words with attention, as he propped himself up the lamp post with his leg. “I really need this internship.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes in suspicion. It seemed too easy but, then again, wasn’t that the devil’s whole thing? Geralt was about to sell his soul to a demon intern and it wasn’t even for eternal youth or riches beyond his imagination, but for a fucking babysitter. He really needed to reevaluate his priorities. “How do I know you’re not lying?” he finally settled on.

“I’ll have you known that just because I’m a demon, it doesn’t mean that I’m a liar.” Jaskier pressed a hand on his chest in mock indignation. “We take our contracts very seriously.”

“Okay fine, I’m sorry,” Geralt grumbled under his breath. He looked at Jaskier relax against the lamp post and blow soft smoke in circles that dissolved in the crisp January air after a few seconds. The very picture of reliability and trustworthiness you’d expect from somebody in charge of a toddler. “Do you even know how to take care of a baby?”

Jaskier shrugged. “How hard can it be? They are so small and all they do is cry, shit and sleep. I’m sure I’ll manage if you managed so far.” With an annoyed expression, he snapped his fingers and a long, weathered parchment appeared in his hand with a little puff of smoke. He extended it towards Geralt and, at Geralt’s hesitation, he laughed, rolling his eyes. “It’s not poisonous.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why would I poison you before you even sign?” and he waved the parchment around, flailing his arms for emphasis. He then proceeded to rub his temples while muttering something that sounded an awful lot like an on-the-verge-of-a-breakdown  I love my job, I love my job, I love my job .

That mood at least Geralt could relate to. Whatever mush of brain he had left helpfully suggested to him that it probably wasn’t the best idea to piss off a demon any further, so Geralt just complied to Jaskier’s request and grabbed the parchment.

It was surprisingly warm and heavy for what (hopefully) was just sheepskin. Underneath an ornate crest of laughing demons in red and black, the text, dense and barely legible occupied the entire scroll leaving only a tiny portion free at the bottom for his signature. Geralt grimaced. “Do I have to sign in blood?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes again, crossing his arms against his chest. “Do you have any idea of how terribly unsanitary it would be?” He shook his head, clicking his tongue disapprovingly, lips pursed in amusement. “It’s a blessing that you are so very handsome because, honestly, you are not the smartest.”

Unsure whether to be offended or laugh with him, Geralt opted for lowering his gaze instead, on the damp grass of his front lawn where he was currently in talks to hire a demon to take care of Ciri, the person he loved most in the entire world. Just an ordinary Wednesday night for anybody. “Do I need to sign right now?” He asked after what felt like hours of silence.

“My word, Geralt, you really do think I am a monster.” Jaskier sighed dramatically, pressing the back of his hand on his forehead. “You have until tomorrow at midnight to sign.”

“What happens if I don’t sign?”

Jaskier straightened against the lamp post as he pushed his hair back from his face, gaze lost over the deserted intersection, probably seeing things that human beings couldn’t and/or shouldn’t. “I’ll disappear in a puff of smoke and you won’t remember ever meeting me at all,” he finally added.

“At all?”

Jaskier nodded slowly, exhaling more smoke, this time not a circular shape but a serpentine form that slithered away into the night. “I don’t make the rules, darling,” he said, now without any mischief in his voice.

A shiver passed through Geralt as the smoke dissipated and he swallowed, throat dry again for no reason. Trying not to look at Jaskier any longer, he looked anywhere: the empty streets, the dark windows of the neighbours’ houses, the red streetlight, the baby monitor still in precarious balance on the mailbox with his long-abandoned beer next to it. “What will happen then? After I sign, I mean.”

“Then I’ll show up and start working.” He grinned and every trace of his dark mood had dissipated just as easily as the smoke. “Please don’t be indecent,” he added and the way Jaskier’s eyes danced on Geralt’s body left him feeling naked and with the distinct impression that Jaskier meant the exact opposite.

Parchment still in hand, Geralt grabbed the baby monitor with the other. It has stayed still for the entire conversation; Ciri hadn’t even stirred in her sleep. “Alright- Okay. I’ll read it over tomorrow morning,” he settled on finally.

The other hummed in approval, low and musical. “I know.”

Feeling incredibly stupid, Geralt still managed to mumble a “Please don’t spy on me in the meantime” through gritted teeth.

Jaskier just winked in response, all rosy skin and pointy teeth and breaths of smoke. “Can’t promise anything, especially with you looking like that. Honestly, if you ever need a job, I’ll be happy to give you a referral to the incubi department because I think you have a lot of potential,” he rambled, waving his hands around, without really paying attention where his sentences were going.

So Geralt was really going to do that. He was going to hire a demon as a babysitter for Ciri, just to have the chance to sleep through the night and buy groceries on time and focus on that goddamned food hall in the hope that Tommy wasn’t going to fire him. And possibly much more exciting prospects, although he didn’t dare linger on them any longer for… reasons.

Jaskier grinned and Geralt’s heart sank like lead into his stomach. Jaskier knew that too, of course. 

“Don’t forget, you have until midnight. Clock’s ticking,” Jaskier reminded him impudently, moving his index finger back and forth like a clock’s hand. “Sleep well, Geralt, and sweet dreams to baby Ciri. I’ll see you both soon enough.”

When Geralt opened his eyes again, there was no trace of Jaskier or the wound on his finger; only the faint smell of rotten eggs, a rolled up, ever-so-slightly too warm parchment, and the soft, monotone buzzing of the baby monitor as Geralt’s only tether to reality.

  


  


**Author's Note:**

> As always, a big thank you to the amazing [mayatheyellowbee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayatheyellowbee/pseuds/mayatheyellowbee) for indulging my stupid ideas, enduring my ramblings, and betaing all my fics. She's simply the best.


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